


weak spot (everybody has one)

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Jane Got A Gun (2016)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon Continuation, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Sibling Incest, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Dan Frost’s heavy footsteps are still within earshot when John speaks again, voice low and steady, like the rumble of thunder on the horizon.“If you cannot hold your tongue, I will cut it out of your head.”





	weak spot (everybody has one)

**Author's Note:**

> **additional warnings for** mentions of prostitution in the context of a brothel and casual misogyny, since these are not good men in the Old West.
> 
> also, it's pretty unclear if these two are full siblings or half-siblings or what, so I went with the 'sibling incest' tag just to be safe.

Dan Frost’s heavy footsteps are still within earshot when John speaks again, voice low and steady, like the rumble of thunder on the horizon. 

“If you cannot hold your tongue, I will cut it out of your head.” 

Vic doesn’t answer. He holds John’s gaze for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’s going to issue another threat, before he drops his eyes to his lap, to his scarred fingers and bitten-down nails. He can feel the moment where John’s eyes leave him as he turns and strides over to the window, and Vic glances back up. The sun is streaming through the grimy glass, and the sounds of Raphael are drifting in; the echoing clang of hammers striking metal, people conversing, horses whinnying and stomping their hooves. 

The air hasn’t rang with a gunshot today, but it’s still early. 

When John speaks again, he picks up right where he left off. The threat is still present, but now he sounds almost thoughtful, contemplative, like he’s musing over some kind of plan.

“Guess I could always just throw you in the cathouse,” he says, eyes still turned towards the window, fingers resting on the sill. “There’s plenty of men passin’ through these parts that’d be willing enough to put your mouth to use. Especially once they got some liquor in them.” 

If the threat came from anyone else, Vic would shoot the bastard where they stood. But this is John, his kin, and while he may be the brains behind their operation, may know how to delicately balance all of their businesses, legitimate and not, while he may be able to spin pretty lies for everyone else, when it comes to Vic, he’s got a weak spot. 

Vic doesn’t doubt that John _would_ cut his tongue out, if he deemed it truly necessary, but he wouldn’t share him with anyone, let alone with the type of men that come streaming through their cathouse. That would be a cardinal sin. 

But he isn’t going to come out and say that plain. That would be the equivalent of getting down on his knees and begging his brother to slice his tongue from his head. 

So instead, he leans back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap, and says, “If you throw me in with the whores, whose mouth you gonna stick it in?”

John twists around, the line of his mouth hard as flint, the sun illuminating some of the pitted spots on his face. 

“I can take my pick.” It’s not a lie; as owner of the fine establishment across the street from their office, John has free rein. He can take whoever he pleases, regardless of the time, regardless of whether or not they’re occupied with a paying customer when he requests them. And really, any of them would be a decent enough pick; Vic has lain with enough of them to know that most of the girls are more than talented when it comes to the bare mechanics of the acts, to wringing out orgasms from a man’s cock and money from his pocket. 

But talented as they may be, most of the girls aren’t much in the way of actresses. They lack real passion, real _want_ of the thing. They might be able to fool the drunken idiots that stumble into their rooms so liquored up they’re nearly blind, but they wouldn’t fool John, who maybe touches one drink a month, if that. 

Vic, on the other hand, doesn’t have to act. He _wants._ And he’s not lacking for talent. Over the years, he’s become as good at getting his brother off as he is at killing a man with one shot. 

It’s second nature. As easy to him as breathing.

“None of them are as good as me,” he says, keeping his eyes locked on John’s. John’s mouth tightens further, but Vic doesn’t look away; he stands his ground, tries his best to bite back a smirk as he watches the inner turmoil filling his brother’s eyes. 

He half expects John to threaten him again but instead, he steps away from the window and strides across the room to the door. Yanking the key for it from his pocket, he locks it and pulls down the shade to cover the small window inset into it. He leaves the key jutting from the lock and steps over until he’s standing in front of Vic, staring down at him. 

Vic stares back. Waits. Thinks about spreading his legs a little, just in case John is thinking about changing his mind. 

Finally, just when Vic is starting to get bored, John reaches down and grabs his jaw with one hand, roughened from horse reins and gun grips and, more recently, hours spent holding a pen. His thumb presses hard into Vic’s jawbone, like he’s trying to tear it out; Vic’s chin rests in the junction between John’s thumb and forefinger, while the rest of John's fingers dig bruises into his cheek and the top of his throat. 

None of their gang will ask about the bruises. They’ve long learned that. Anyone else who asks will just get a bullet for their curiosity. 

With his other hand, John starts working open his trousers. He doesn’t have to look down to do it; the movements are practiced, efficient. He only does what’s necessary to free his cock. Once that’s done, he wraps one hand around himself and starts stroking, slowly. He steps closer and pushes his knee into the side of Vic’s, forcing his legs further apart so that he can step closer. Vic meets him halfway, slides forward as far as he can go without tumbling from the chair. 

“You just gonna do that all day?” he asks after a few moments, eyes lowering to John’s stroking hand. He’s at full hardness now, swollen and glistening wet. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, the first time he’s had to simply stay still and wait for John to reach completion, wait for it to streak his mouth and cheeks.

In response, John moves his thumb to the corner of Vic’s mouth, pushes it inside. His skin tastes like ink from the letters he was writing before Dan Frost came in, and Vic is stuck between wanting to bite down or wanting to hollow out his cheeks and suck. 

In the end, he decides on dragging his tongue along it, along the folds of John’s knuckles, over his calloused fingertip and his trimmed nail. For just a moment, the rhythm of John’s hand falters. Vic raises his eyes to John’s face just in time to see him swallow heavily before he composes himself once more. 

It's a quick moment of weakness, there and gone again, but Vic isn’t in the habit of seeing things; he knows what he saw. He grins the best he can and repeats the action, slower this time, floods his mouth with the taste of ink and sweat. In response, John roughly yanks his thumb from Vic’s mouth and shoves his hand back into his hair instead, uses his harsh grip to tilt Vic’s head back, just slightly, so that it’s at a better angle. 

“If you want to keep that smart tongue of yours,” he says, pausing his stroking in order to simply grip himself, “you’ll have to convince me. Open your mouth.” 

It’s a challenge Vic can’t lose. 

He permits himself one last smirk before he opens his mouth and waits.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know why I wrote this. blame the Merry Month of Masturbation.
> 
> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
